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Covers  restored  and/or  laminated/ 
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Cover  title  missing/ 

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10X 

14X 

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22X 

26X 

30X 

y 

12X 

16X 

20X 

24X 

28X 

32X 

itails 
i  du 
odifier 
'  une 
mage 


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g6n6roslt6  de: 

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sion, and  ending  on  the  last  page  with  a  printed 
or  illustrated  impression. 


The  last  recorded  frame  on  each  microfiche 
shall  contain  the  symbol  — ^  (meaning  "CON- 
TINUED"), or  the  symbol  V  (meaning  "END"), 
whichever  applies. 


Les  exemplaires  originaux  dont  la  couverture  en 
papier  est  imprimde  sont  filmds  en  commenpant 
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dernidre  page  qui  comporte  une  empreinte 
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d'impression  ou  d'illustration  et  en  terminant  par 
la  dernidre  page  qui  comporte  une  telle 
empreinte. 

Un  des  symboles  suivants  apparaitra  sur  la 
dernidre  image  de  cheque  microfiche,  selon  le 
cas:  le  symbole  -^^  signifie  "A  SUIVRE",  le 
symbole  V  signifie  "FIN". 


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Les  cartes,  planches,  tableaux,  etc.,  peuvent  dtre 
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et  de  haut  en  bas,  en  prenant  le  nombre 
d'images  ndcessaire.  Les  diagrammes  suivants 
illustrent  la  m6thode. 


jrrata 
to 


pelure, 
in  d 


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32X 


1  2  3 


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6 

COMPLIMENTARY. 


-*-»-*- 


Your  little  volume  is  full  of  poetic  beauty  and  deep  feeling. — 
Henry  W.  Loui^fello^v. 

"Bide  a  Wee"  contains  a  chaste  and  graceful  collection  of 
poems,  which  do  credit  to  the  heart  and  intellect  of  the  author.— 
John  G.  W /lit tier. 

Your  little  book  confirmed  all  my  favorable  impressions.  I 
found  your  poems  truthful  and  melodious.— O/^Vt-;-  Wendell 
Hobncs. 

Your  book  is  a  true  book,  bright  and  \)t^\\\\{\}\.—Joa(jnin 
Miller. 

"Bide  a  Wee  and  other  Poems"  is  a  volume  of  verse,  simple 
and  sweet,  much  of  it  sprightly.  If  the  sentiment  is  often  the 
echo  of  familiar  thoughts  and  strains,  the  music  is  always  sweet 
and  pleasing,  but  in  some  charming  home  scenes  the  author 
shows  a  scene  of  humor  and  good  situations  which  ought,  rightly 
used,  to  rank  her  a  writer  of  vers  de  societe. 

The  little  scene  in  the  poem  "  St.  Elmo,"  is  a  delicious  bit,  and 
"  A  Sermon,"  on  lace  smuggling  and  custom  dues,  has  a  pretty 
fashionable  touch.  There  is  real  grace  in  such  romantic  poems 
as  "  Gage  d'  Amour,"  the  prettiest  of  her  love  verses. — Baldwin's 
Monthly,  New  York. 

This  unpretentious  little  book  will  find  a  hearty  welcome  on 
both  sides  of  the  Atlantic.  Miss  MacColl  has  evidently  inherited 
no  small  share  of  the  divine  afflatus  from. her  father,  the  well- 
known  bard  of  Loch  Fyne. 


"  One  Less  To-night  "  is  a  pathetic  picture.  "  Fallen  Stars,"  a 
sweet  poem,  full  of  large-hearted  charity  and  tender  sympathy 
for  human  "  wandering  stars." 

In  "  My  Love,"  with  its  musical  cadence  and  glowing  imagery, 
we  recognize  the  work  of  a  true  poet ;  but  in  "  Good-by  "  there 
is  poetry,  and  more,  "  Johnny's  Letter"  is  charming  in  its  sim- 
plicity and  droUness.  —  Celtic  Magazine,  Inverness,  Scotland, 

Judged  merely  for  what  they  pretend  to  be,  Miss  MacColl's 
poems  are  abundantly  worthy,  sweet  and  womanly  and  excellent 
in  their  modest,  artless  way.  They  are  the  frank,  sincere,  unaf- 
fected utterances  of  a  nature  in  which  the  perception  of  the 
poetic  side  of  things  is  keen  and  loving,  rather  than  ambitious. 
They  are  the  utterances  of  a  healthy,  earnest  nature,  with  strong 
convictions  and  positive  principles  of  moral  judgment. — New 
York  Evening  Post. 

These  poems  breathe  a  sweet  earnestness.  Throughout  the 
whole  book  there  is  no  straining  after  effect.  The  vers  de  societe 
are  timely  and  demure,  while  "St.  Elmo"  is  a  picture  full  of 
refined  humor.  "To  a  Portrait,"  "My  Lady,"  "At  Parting." 
"  Returned,"  "Good-by,"  all  go  to  make  "  Bide  a  Wee"  a  favorite 
little  home  book,  pure  and  sweet  and  absolutely  free  from  cant 
and  mysticism.  — Philadelphia  Chronicle- Herald. 

Miss   MacColl's  poems  all  bear  the  impress  of  a  trained  mind, 
a  clear  imagination,  a  deep  insight  into  human  nature,  kindly  wit 
and  shrewd   common  sense. — Scottish    American   Journal,  New 
York. 

In  "Fallen  Stars"  there  is  a  grand  plea  for  the  weak  and 
erring.  We  would  also  call  attention  to  "  St.  Elmo,"  "  Gage  d' 
Amour,"  "  Yet  a  Little  While,"  "  After  Many  Days."  Fresh  and 
welcome  are  the  many  references  to  the  joy,  the  laughter,  the  love 
and  loveliness  of  children. — Ofta-va  {Oni.)  Free  Press. 


The  descriptive  character  of  the  poetry  of  this  book  is  equal  to 
any  that  we  have  seen  in  poems  of  the  kind.  Thus,  in  "  Fallen 
Stars,"  the  term  "dimpled  feet  abare"  is  so  expressive,  so  true  to 
life,  that  it  might  have  been  limned  by  the  poets  of  old.  "  In 
Memoriam  "  is  full  of  sympathy  and  the  holiest  feelings  that  well 
up  when  speaking  of  the   loved  and  lost. 

The  imagery  of  Miss  MacCoU's  poetry  is  surpassingly  good. — 
Hamilton  [Oni.)  Spectator, 

The  meaning  and  moral  of  Miss  MacCoU's  poems  may  be  seen 
at  a  glance.  There  is  many  a  fireside  where  their  sv/eetness  will 
be  welcome. — Buffalo  Courier, 

There  are  a  good  many  pretty  things  in  this  little  volume, 
poems  without  pretention,  but  which  steal  their  way  to  the  heart 
of  the  reader,  quiet  and  unambitious  of  great  results,  but  which 
are  thoroughly  effective  in  the  vein  their  author  has  chosen. — 
Buffalo  Express. 

The  first  poem,  "  To  My  Father,"  is  worth  the  whole  cost  of 
the  book. — Buffalo  Christian  Advocate. 

Miss  MacColl  wields  an  able  and  very  versatile  pen.  In  all  her 
poems  there  is  a  delightful  gracefulness  of  expression,  and  the 
reader  is  not  merely  interested,  but  captivated  by  an  occasional 
flight  of  fancy.  There  is  not  a  mere  imitation,  but  that  peculiar 
fire  and  feeling  and  pathos  whose  deep  significance  and  beauty  is 
best  and  only  indicated  in  verse. — Kingston  {Ont.)  British  IVhig. 

It  \i  rarely  that  fugitive  poetry  is  met  with  of  so  high  a  standard 
as  Miss  MacCoU's.  To  our  mind,  the  best  poems  are  "  Two 
Autumn  Days  "  and  "  Fallen  Stars,"  but  for  a  truly  charming  lilt, 
commend  us  to  "  Edith  Ikll."  We  are  not  aware  of  ever  having 
met  with  a  grander  description  of  feminine  beauty,  drawn  by 
feminine  hands  than  that  in  the  poem,  "  My  Love." — Hamilton 
(Ont.)  Times. 


( 


BIDE  A  WEE, 


AND 


OTHER    POEMS. 


BY 


MARY    J.    MacCOLL. 


BUFFALO 


PETER    PAUL   &   BROTHE 

271    Main  Street. 
1880. 


R. 


7084 


Entered  according  to  act  of  Congress,  in  tlie  year  1879, 

!5y   MARY   J.  MacCOLL, 

In  the  office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at  Washington,  D.  C. 


The  Courier  CoMrANv, 

EUctrotyfers,  Printers  and  Binders, 

Buffalo,  N.  Y. 


mm 


T  OFFER   these    Poems    to   an    indulgent    public, 
feeling    deeply   their    incompleteness    in    every 
respect.     They  have  been  written  hastily,  at  intervals, 
under  circumstances  far  from  favorable  to  the  cloth- 
ing of  poetic  thoughts  in  fitting  garb, 

I  dedicate  them,  with  fond  afftHtion,  to  my  dear 
Father,  from  whom  I  have  inherited  what  little 
poetic  feeling  they  may  display. 

M.  J.  M. 

Ri  FKALO,  N.  v.,  November y  iSyq. 


il1 


CONTENTS. 


'lO  My  Father, 
HiDK  A  Wkk, 
A  Skrmon, 
I'wo  Autumn  Days, 
Contradiction, 
Fa  I.:  KN  Stars,     . 
Returned, 
Si'.  Elmo, 
In  Memoriam, 
Comfort, 

GOOD-BY, 

Tired  to  Death, 

Cage  D 'Amour, 

Christmas, 

One  Less  To-night, 

Another  Year, 

Snow, 

Edith  Bell, 


Pack. 
9 

12 

14 

17 
21 

23 
27 

29 
32 

35 
37 
40 

43 
44 
47 
SO 

53 
55 


f 

• 

Vi                                  CON  r  K  N  T  s. 

1 

Pack. 

• 

To    A    l^ORTRAIT, 

58 

"Afikk   Many  Days,"         .... 

59 

Answkrki),         ....... 

62 

"Vkt   a   Littik  While,"     .... 

64 

1 

Kasii.r   SoNd, 

66 

My   I,(»vk, 

68 

At   Fartinc;, 

70 

, 

My   I,ai>y,      ..... 

A     PkNI'I  KNTIAI,    PrAYKR, 

Acrostic,      ..... 
Throuc.h   Dkaiii    to  I.ifk, 
Johnny's  Li:rrKk, 
Throuch  thk  Storm,     . 
Mkmkntos,  .... 

An  Owkr  Truk  Talk, 
forcf.'t-mk-no'ts, 
Beneath    the  Pines, 
Decorative  Art, 
Follies  of  To-day, 
"My  (Irace  is  Sufficient  for  The 
Sunset,     .  .... 


ti't 


72 

74 

77 
78 


84 

87 
89 

91 


95 


100 


102 


4 

7 
8 

I 

4 

7 

9 
1 

>5 
)8 

)0 
)2 


POEMS. 


TO    MY    FATHER. 


T~^  EAR,    honored   father,   who    in    childhood's 

-■— ^         years 

Did'st  fill  to  me  the  place  of  parents  both 

So  faithfully  that  scarce  I  felt  that  loss 

Which  naught  of  earth  can  fully  compensate — 

A  mother's  love  and  guidance — glad  I  tune 

My  harp  to  sound  thy  praise,  nor  could  I  choose 

A  nobler,  fitter  theme.     An  honest  man, 

God's  noblest   work,    thou    art.     For   Truth  and 

Right 
A  champion  undismayed,  who  ne'er  at  wrong 
Or  aught  unjust  hath  winked,  because,  forsooth 
The  doers  sat  enthroned  in  places  high. 
One  who  disdained  to  cringe  to  any  man 
Although  thereby  he  might  have  gotten  gain 
And  won  position,  ease,  and  all  the  good 
That  baser  minds  would  prize  as  far  above 
A  conscience  clean  and  void  of  all  offense. 


lO 


TO     MY    FATHER. 


E'en  in  the  vilest  thy  broad  charity- 
Could  clear  discern  the  good — the  spark  divine — 
Though  latent,  waiting  but  the  quickening  breath 
Of  noble  influence,  example  pure, 
To  fan  it  into  never-dying  flame. 
The  lowest  outcast  was  thy  brother  man  ; 
No  Levite  thou,  to  take  the  other  side  ; 
A  kindly,  helping  hand  was  ever  stretched 
To  all  in  need,  and  from  thy  hard-won  store 
Thou  gnvest  bountifully.     None  uncheered, 
Unaided,  left  thy  ever-open  door. 
No  test  of  worthiness  did'st  thou  require — 
That  miserable  excuse  for  heartlessness ; 
The  greater  to  be  pitied,  in  thine  eyes. 
That  wretch  who  knew  that  he  himself  had  wrecked 
His  own  and  worse,  it  might  be,  other  lives; 
And  bowed  beneath  the  burden  of  Too  Late. 


A  man  thou  art  of  simple,  child-like  faith, 
Enduring  patience,  and  undying  hope. 
In  one  grand  word,  thou  art  a  Christ-like  man. 
I  think  with  sad  regret  of  all  the  years 
Passed  far  from  thee,  for  Providence  decreed 


TO    MY    FATHER. 


II 


That  my  life-path,  when  thy  protecting  love 
I  needed  most,  should  far  diverge  from  thine ; 
And  I  have  missed  thee  sore  a  thousand  times, 
But  ever  by  my  side  thy  spirit  seemed 
To  stand  and  counsel  me  to  choose  the  good  ; 
And  sweeter  praise  on  me  was  ne'er  bestowed 
Than  this,  *'  Thou  'rt  very  like  thy  father,  child." 


Had  I  not  lacked  so  oft  thy  sympathy, 
Thy  tender  guidance,  ever  wise  reproof, 
My  muse  had  taken  loftier  flights  and  thou 
Had'st  seen  thy  youth  again  renewed  in  me ; 
But  having  to  forego  so  much,  my  strains. 
E'en  when  I  sing  of  thee,  are  faltering  ; 
And  yet  a  deep,  unfathomable  flood 
Of  fond  affection  surges  in  my  soul. 
In  vain  I  strive  to  give  it  overflow 
In  voiceless  music,  and  within  my  heart 
It  must  remain  a  sweet,  imprisoned  song. 


i! 


PATIENCE. 

""pIDE  a  wee  and  dinna  weary" 
^-^  *'  Patience"  quaintly  was  defined 
By  a  little  Scottish  maiden, 

And  the  sweet  words  in  my  mind 
Ever  linger,  like  the  memory 

Of  a  beautiful  refrain  ; 
Making  hours  of  gloom  less  dreary. 

When  I  breathe  them  o'er  again. 

Fretted  by  the  many  crosses 

All  must  bear  from  day  to  day. 
Troubled  by  our  cares  and  losses, 

Each  of  us  hath  need  to  say 
To  our  hearts,  impatient,  crying 

For  the  ships  so  long  at  sea. 
While  faith  faints  and  hope  is  dying — 

"  Dinna  weary,  bide  a  wee." 


; 


PATIENCE. 

**  Rainy  days  "  each  life  will  sadden, 

Gentle  shower,  or  tempest  wild, 
Fall  upon  us, — blessings  gladden 

In  their  turn.     To  every  child 
Gives  the  Father  or  withholdeth, 

Ever  wisely,  tenderly ; 
Thus  our  hearts  for  Heaven  He  mouldeth, 

**  Dinna  weary,  bide  a  wee." 

Some  there  are  whom  glad  fruition 

'Neath  the  skies  may  never  bless. 
Some  to  whose  long-urged  petition 

Ne'er  will  come  the  yearned-for  '*  yes." 
Why  ?     God  knoweth — He  who  lendeth 

Strength  to  suffer  trustingly. 
What  He  seeth  best  He  sendeth— 

''  Dinna  weary,  bide  a  wee." 

Hopeful  wait  a  glad  *'  to-morrow 

Cast  on  Jesus  every  care, 
Not  unseen  by  Him  thy  sorrow, 

Not  unpitied  thy  despair, 
For  His  people  there  remaineth 

Rest  and  peace  eternally, 
Where  the  light  of  joy  ne'er  waneth, 

"  Dinna  weary,  bide  a  v/ee." 


13 


\ 


A   SERMON. 

/^^  OING  to  church  this  morning,  Helen  ? 
^^-'^     Mamma  thinks  we  ought  to  go. 
But  that  prosy  parson  preaches ; — 

I  shall  go  to  sleep,  I  know. 
After  Kingsley's  thrilling  sermons, 

Think  of  settling  calmly  down 
To  the  *'  dry-as-dust "  discourses 

One  hears  in  this  dull,  old  town. 

Never  heard  St.  Ives  new  curate  ? 

Oh,  how  much  you've  missed,  dear  girl ! 
While  he's  speaking  one  seems  standing 

Very  near  the  Gates  of  Pearl ; 
And  he  looks  just  like  an  angel 

In  his  gown  ; — he's  quite  too  good 
For  (I  cannot  think  who  wrote  it) 

**  Human  nature's  daily  food." 

Yes,  his  people  all  adore  him. 

Only  think  :  last  Christmas-day 
Forty  pairs  of  lovely  slippers 

To  his  study  found  their  way; 


A    S  E  R  M  O  N. 


15 


Costly  knickknacks,  scores  of  foot-rests, 
Pictures,  books,  and  easy-chairs, — 

"  Traps  enough,"  his  "  Boots  "  told  Dennis, 
**  To  have  stocked  a  dozen  fairs." 

He's  a  hero  ;  braver  never 

Graced  King  Arthur's  Table  Round. 
No  respecter  he  of  persons — 

Every  heart  he  seems  to  sound. 
Once  "  Thou  shalt  not  steal  "  his  text  was: 

"  Few,"  he  said,  "  alas,  how  few 
Keep  this  law  !     Let  conscience  answer, 

Are  you  honest?     Are  you  true? 


"  Steal 's  an  ugly  word,  I  grant  you. 

Well,  '  defraud  not '  means  the  same. 
How  we  hate  to  give  our  foibles. 

As  we  call  them,  their  just  name. 
Guiltless — are  you  ?     Have  you  never 

vSw7/^^/^y/ broadcloth,  satins,  furs?" 
I  thought  of  my  Alexandrines, — 

Mrs.  Upton  glanced  at  hers. 


i6 


A    SERMON. 


J 


"  Did  you  pay  each  dollar  duty 

On  your  velvets,  silks,  and  lace  ?  " 
"  Great  sensation  I  "     Breathless  silence. 

Eloquent  was  every  face. 
Belle  Brown  brought  her  Paris  dresses 

Over  in  a  "  crooked  "  way; 
Kate  Clyde,  too,  her  gloves  and  stockings 

And  exquisite  lingerie. 


After  church  we  talked  it  over, — 

Vowed  that  we  would  never  more 
Cheat  those  prying,  pert  inspectors  ; — 

Why,  it  seemed  a  joke  before. 
"  Carriage  waiting."     Well,  I'll  tell  you 

Of  another,  on  the  way, 
Just  as  stirring, — how  I  wish,  dear, 

We  could  hear  him  preach  to-day. 


.-«^  , 


I 


TWO    AUTUMN    DAYS. 

ALL  day  in  gusty  showers,  I  saw  the  leaves 
Swept    eddying    downward    to    the    rain- 
soaked  sod, 
I  saw  upon  the  uplands  tented  sheaves, 

And  by  the  roadside  wind-tossed  golden  rod. 

Above,  the  sullen  sky  frowned  loweringly. 

Close-curtained,  not  the  smallest  patch  of  blue — 

A  hint  of  brighter  morrow — could  I  see, 
No  gleam  of  silver  lining  peeping  through. 

And  bitterly  I  thought,  How  like  my  life 

Is  this  bleak  day  !   Hope's  tree  is  lifeless,  bare. 

Its  empty  arms  are  tossed  in  useless  strife 

With  fate,  and  sighing  vainly,  spare,  O,  spare ! 


Yet  when  the  forest  banners  were  unfurled. 
And  fluttered  in  the  balmy  breeze  of  June, 

I  too  was  gay,  all  perfect  seemed  the  world. 
And  my  glad  heart  with  nature's  beat  in  tune. 


^ 


IS 


T  WO    A  U  T  U  M  N    D  A  Y  S. 


But  in  one  day  I  saw  the  flowers  of  trust, — 
Flowers  kindly  tended  and  kept  fresh  by  tears 

Of  fond  remembrance,  trampled  in  the  dust, 
And  dyin<^  with  the  faith  of  long,  sad  years. 

Oh,  'twas  a  cruel  blow,  for  well-loved  hands 
Had  dealt  it — and  I  stood  despairingly, 

Too  faint  to  cry  for  aid,  as  one  who  stands 
Helpless  on  sinking  ship,  far  out  at  sea. 

I  could  not  weep,  I  could  not  even  pray, 

My  stricken  heart  cried,  Where  is  now  thy  God  ? 

What  hast  thou  done,  that  He  on  thee  should  lay 
As  in  fierce  anger,  thus  the  chastening  rod  ? 

Thou  call'st  Him  Heavenly  Father,  Lord  of  Love; 

Would  an  all-powerful,  earthly  parent  send 
Sorrow  on  sorrow  ?     Lo,  thy  trust  doth  prove 

All  unavailing,  on  thyself  depend. 


And  long  I  bore  my  burden  sore  alone, 

I  could  not  say  "  Thy  w^ll,  not  mine,  be  done." 

Unceasingly  my  aching  heart  made  moan 

Through  the  long  day,  from  dawn  to  set  of  sun. 


TWO    AUTUMN    DAYS. 


19 


Oft  in  the  silent  watches  of  the  night 

The  *'  still,  small  voice"  spake  gently,  tenderly, 

"  Trust  nie,  my  child,  in  time  will  come  the  light, 
And  in  this  grief  a  blessing  thou  shalt  see." 

Humbled  at  last,  I  bowed  in  prayer  my  head 
And  cried,  "  (),  Saviour,  take  again  my  hand. 

Through  starless  deserts  long  my  path  hath  led, 
My  weary  feet  pressed  only  shifting  sand. 

**  Alone  I  cannot  tread  life's  thorn-set  road, 
I  need  Thine  arm  to  stay,  Thy  voice  to  guide ; 

Take  all  I  have,  but  keep  me,  O  my  God, 
A  trusting  child,  forever  near  Thy  side." 

Then  straightway  came  the  Comforter  to  me. 
The  troubled  waters  of  my  soul  were  stilled. 

The  wondrous  power  that  calmed  deep  Galilee 
With  perfect  peace  my  restless  spirit  filled. 


Soon  was  the  meaning  of  my  sorrow  plain, 
I  found  a  blessing  what  I  deemed  a  cross. 

And  owned  with  glad  surprise  the  richest  gain 
Where  I  had  counted  bitter,  hopeless  loss. 


mm 


BiBIHBSSSSBHtB 


20 


TWO    AUTUMN    DAY  S. 


And  when  next  year,  'mid  fields  of  waving  grain, 
I  saw  the  reapers  binding  golden  sheaves, 

When  southward  fled  the  swallows,  and  again 
'Neath  Autumn's  kiss  blushed  crimson  all  the 
leaves, 

I  gave  glad  thanks,  for  God  my  life  had  crowned, 
Like  to  the  year,  with  fair  fruition.     Blest 

With   His    kind  smile,  like  Heaven,  this  earth   is 
found 
In  every  season.     Yes,  He  knoweth  best. 


\  ti 


i) 


I:   ( 


CONTRADICTION. 

r^VER  the  purple  hills, 

^^     On  through  the  dewy  dale, 

Softly  the  twilight  steals, 

Clad  in  her  misty  veil  • 
Dead  is  the  after-glow  ; 

Fair  on  the  brow  of  night 
Gleameth  the  moon  ;  below 

Mirrors  the  lake  her  light. 

Creeping  o'er  clovered  leas. 

Stealing  through  boughs  abloom, 
Bloweth  a  gentle  breeze 

Laden  with  rich  perfume. 
Sweetly  adown  the  dell 

Floateth  a  lightsome  lay; 
Katydid,  hush  !  and  tell— 

Ridcth  my  love  that  way.? 

Close  by  the  ivied  tower. 

Weaving  sweet  dreams,  I  wait, 

Wearing  his  favorite  flower; 
Yet  when  he  ope's  the  gate 


If*"' 


Ill 


22 


CONTRADICTION. 


I  shall  be  cold  and  shy ; 

The  buds  aside  I'll  throw, 
And  wish  he  would  pass  by, 

Though  I  should  weep,  I  know. 

The  robe  he  praised  I  wear, 

A  simple  gown  of  white ; 
I've  bound  my  shining  hair 

With  sprays  of  myrtle  bright. 
O,  heart !  he  is  anear  ; 

In  haste  I  turn  aside. 
Albeit  I  love  him  dear. 

Dearer  than  all  beside. 


FALLEN   STARS. 


BEFORE  the  window  little  Mamie  stood 
In  nii;ht-robc  white — her  dimpled  feet  abare, 
Waitini^  in  (|uict,  reverential  mood, 

While  sister  Annie  lisped  her  evening  prayer. 

The  smiling  moon  sailed  slowly  up  the  sky, 
And  just  above  the  gray  horizon's  bar 

Beamed  down  upon  the  earth,  with  golden  eye. 
Twinkling  and  bright,  a  solitary  star. 

"The  heavens  declare  God's  glory," — from   my 
heart 
These  words  of  praise   o'erflowed    my  lips   in 
speech  : 
How  great,  I  thought,  if  this  be  only  part 
The  glory  unrevealed,  we  hope  to  reach. 

Childhood's  sweet,  simple  prayers  had  each  been 
said  ; 

Still  I  sat  musing  in  the  gathering  gloom, 
Upon  my  knee  had  dropped  the  golden  head, 

When  sudden  plaintive  sobbing  filled  the  room. 


i 


i     M 


_ci 


24 


FALLEN    STARS. 


"  Mamie,"  I  called,  and  hastened  to  her  side, 
With  eager  questions  filled  with  anxious  fear; 

"  Not  ill — then  tell  me  why  my  darling  cried  ? 
**  Not  hurt — what  is  the  matter — tell  me,  dear?" 

"  I  cried  because  the  naughty  mamma  moon 

Has  left  the  little,  tiny  baby  star, 
And  gone  away  into  the  sky  alone, 

So  high,  so  very  high,  and  oh,  so  far." 

Quick  to  my  eyes,  warm  tears  responsive  welled  ; 

Close  to  my  heart  I  pressed  the  sad,  sweet  face, 
Giving  glad  thanks  that  in  my  arms  I  held 

My  fair,  twin  stars  in  tender,  safe  embrace. 


I  thought  how  many  "wandering  stars"  to-night 
Are  far  away  from  mother-love  and  care, 

How  many  fallen — once  as  pure  and  bright 
As  these  my  treasures — innocent  and  fair. 

"  Who  is  sufficient?"     Vain  is  human  power 
Alone  to  keep  the  wolf  outside  the  fold  ; 

The  strong  are  weak  in  dark  temptation's  hour, 
The  '*  old,  old  story  "  all  in  vain  is  told. 


FALLEN    S  T  A  R  S. 


25 


Alas,  those  straying  ones !     How  little  they 
Who  ne'er  have  stood  alone  can  understand 

How  hard  life's  battle  is  from  day  to  day, 
What  cunning  snares  arc  set  on  every  hand. 

Poor,  lonely  souls,  to  whom  the  lamps  of  heaven 
Bring  only  thoughts  of  dread,  remorse  and 
shame  ; 

Have  we,  their  sisters,  "to  whom  much  is  given," 
Done  all  we  might  to  rescue  and  reclaim  ? 

We  give  of  our  abundance,  clothing,  food, 

We  counsel,  warn,  read  sermons,  proffer  tracts, 

And  deem  such  heartless  service  doing  good. 
Forgetful  it  the  **  one  thing  needful  "  lacks — 

The  spirit  of  the  Master.     W^hile  we  stand 
Clad  in  self-righteousness  to  preach  and  pray, 

Yet  shrink  to  touch  with  ours  the  outcast's  hand, 
Or  one  kiss  on  a  branded  forehead  lay. 

How  can  they  trust  in  God  the  Father's  love. 
His  power  to  cleanse  the  vilest  from  all  sin, 

When  by  our  deeds  our  fair  words  we  disprove? 
We  doubt  them,  and  we  fear  to  take  one  in. 


r^ 


1    ! 


26 


FALLEN    STARS. 


And  they  go  forth  once  more,  we  know  not  where; 

Perhaps  to  fall  again  a  helpless  prey ; 
Sin's  heavy  burdens  all  alone  to  bear, 

Alone  to  struggle  up  the  **  narrow  way." 

Yet  Christ  hath  said,  *'  If  for  the  least  of  these 
Ye  have  done  aught  it  hath  been  as  for  me ;" 

Each  fallen  star  His  eye  wMth  pity  sees, 
Each  straying  sheep  He  seeketh  tirelessly. 

Unseen,  the  Shepherd  walketh  by  our  side, 

How  dare  we,  then,  in  thought,  even,  **  cast  a 
stone"? 
Beneath  the  Pharisaic  robe  of  pride 

His  eye  doth   pierce,  all   hearts    to    Him    are 
known. 


RETURNED. 


DROOPING  lilacs,  nod  and  sway 
All  your  fragrant  purple  plumes; 
Robins,  sing  your  sweetest  lay 

'Mid  the  dainty  apple-blooms; 
Golden  sunshine,  flowerets  rare, 

S4iine  and  blossom  bright,  I  pray ; 
Smile,  O  sky,  O  winds,  blow  fair — 
For  my  lover  comes  to-day. 

Comes  from  sailing  o'er  the  main 

Back  to  wed  his  promised  bride ; 
From  the  casement  once  again 

Shall  I  see  his  swift  bark  glide 
Up  the  silver-crested  bay, 

Where  the  ripples  dance  and  gleam 
Till  beneath  the  sunlight  they 

Waves  of  liquid  silver  seem. 

Just  one  little  year  ago 

Since  we  parted  on  the  strand ; 
Then  as  now,  like  perfumed  snow. 

Blossoms  strewed  the  meadow-land  ; 


r 


28  RETURN  E  D. 

« 

Earth  had  donned  her  robe  of  green, 
Daisy-broidered,  gemi.     J  with  gold  ; 

Ah,  how  like  a  troubled  dream 

Seem  the  months  that  since  have  rolled. 

Hasten,  darling,  o'er  the  sea. 

For  to-day  is  due  thy  vow ; 
"  Love,"  you  whispered,  "  look  for  me 

When  upon  the  crimson  bough 
Of  the  maple  bluebirds  sing, 

When  the  swallows  'neath  the  eaves 
Ivy-crowned  are  twittering, 

And  the  zephyrs  woo  the  leaves." 

Drooping  lilacs,  nod  and  sway 

All  your  fragrant  purple  plumes; 
Robins,  sing  your  sweetest  lay 

'Mid  the  dainty  apple-blooms; 
For  my  own  true  lover  now 

Clasps  me  closely  to  his  heart, 
Whispers,  kissing  lips  and  brow, 

**  Darling,  mine,  no  more  we  part." 


ST.   ELMO. 

ONE  summer  Sabbath  Grandma  Gordon  bent 
In  reverent  meditation  o'er  the  Book, 
Wherein  she  found  the  wondrous  bahn  which  lent 
Her  placid  face  its  gentle,  happy  look. 


The  day  to  her  was  truly  God's  own  day. 

Kept  unprofaned   from  taint  of  worldly  things ; 

Tabooed  were  novels,  journals, — papers  lay 

Untouched.    The  rustling  faint  of  angels'  wings 


At  eventide,  in  fancy,  we  could  hear. 

When  at  the  household  altar  low  we  bowed  ; 

So  heavenly  round  her  seemed  the  atmosphere. 
We  scarcely  dared  to  speak  our  thoughts  aloud. 


Stretched  out  upon  the  lounge  lay  brother  Rex, 
Weary  of  brooding  over  "  Guthrie's  Life  ;  " 

I  pondered  over  the  problems  which  perplex 
Each  human  heart  with  endless  mystery  rife. 


30 


S  T.    E  L  M  O. 


Half  hidden  by  the  curtains  Katie  sat 
Curled,  kitten-like,  upon  an  easy  chair, 

On  book  intent, — near  her  upon  the  mat 

Old  Nestor  crouched,  with  watchful,  serious  air. 

At  length  a  voice  the  solemn  stillness  broke — 
Rex,  boy-like,  craved  yet  more  than  '*  food  for 
thought " — 

From  her  sweet  reverie  grandmamma  awoke, 
And  Katie's  face  her  loving  eyes  first  sought. 

Smiling,  she  kindly  said,  "  I'm  pleased,  my  dear, 
To  see  such  eager  interest  in  your  book  ; 

Heed   Wisdom's    voice   whene'er    she    calls    and 
hear." 
Kate  listened  with  a  roguish,  guilty  look. 

"  What  is  the  title,  darling  ?  "     The  reply 

Came  prompt,  "St.  Elmo."     I  look  up  amazed. 
"  The  name  seems  strange,"  said  grandma,  with  a 
sigh. 
'*  Ah,  how  my  memory  fails,  but,   Heaven  be 
praised. 


lL=^ 


ST.   ELMO. 


31 


''  Each  saintly  life  will  strengthen  hope  and  faith 
In  one's  own    heart,— read   all,  dear,   pass  by 
none." 

Rex   coughed   and    vanished,    while    I    held    my 
breath, 

And  wicked  Katie  read  demurely  on. 


IN   MEMORIAM. 

DAVID     DEVEAUX     AL  TMAN. 

DEAD,   with    the    dew    still    fresh    upon    the 
flowers 
Which  made  life's  pathway  sweet, 
His  sun  gone  down  in  the  bright  morning  hours, 
Its  glory  incomplete. 

Gone,  swift  as  rosy  dawn,  as  flowerets  rare, 

As  even's  glowing  gold, 
A  story  ended,  closed  the  volume  fair. 

With  all  the  best  untold. 

Dead,  as  when  dies  a  glad,  exultant  song 

Ere  yet  the  sweetest  strain 
Is  reached, — with  eager  ears  we  wait  and  long, 

No  sound  floats  back  again, 

A  father  crieth,  as  King  David  cried 

Of  old,  *'  My  son  !  my  son  ! 
My  son,  would  God  that  I  for  thee  had  died ! " 

My  hope,  my  only  one. 


IN    M  E  M  O  R  I  A  M. 


33 


My  darling  boy !  I  seek  him  everywhere, 

I  cannot  make  him  dead, 
I  seem  to  hear  in  chamber,  hall,  on  stair, 

His  voice,  his  buoyant  tread. 

Light  of  mine  eyes;  long  had  I  hoped  on  thee 

To  lean  when  age  came  on, 
Yet  I  am  left,  a  bowed  and  stricken  tree. 

And  thou,  my  staff,  art  gone ! 

A  tender  mother  mourns  for  him,  her  pride. 

Crown  of  her  womanhood. 
Strong,  generous,  brave,  he  grew  up  by  her  side 

With  every  grace  imbued. 

With  mother-love  she  read  the  coming  years. 

And  saw  a  proud  place  won 
By  him  o'er  whom  she  weepeth  hopeless  tears, 

Her  happy  dreaming  done. 


ii 


ill 


\  I 


A  loving  sister  calls  with  aching  heart, 

O,  brother,  come  again  ; 
Had'st  thou  but  said  good-by  ere  we  did  part. 

Less  bitter  were  our  pain. 


fill 


34 


IN    M  E  M  O  R  I  A  M. 


But  O,  to  have  no  kiss,  no  clasp  of  hand, 
No  glance  from  thy  blue  eyes. 

Nor  slightest  gesture  love  could  understand,- 
No  last,  fond  word  to  prize. 

Sore  stricken  hearts,  how  can  I  comfort  ye ; 

Alas,  too  well  I  feel 
The  kindest  words  must  seem  but  mockery 

And  wound,  where  meant  to  heal. 


Yet  O,  believe,  Our  Father  knoweth  best, 

He  giveth  soonest  sleep 
To  his  beloved,  happy,  peaceful  rest, 

They  do  not  wake  to  weep. 

The  angels  called  him,  ere  his  young  white  soul 

Was  smirched  by  stain  of  sin. 
His  race  is  ended, — he  hath  reached  the  goal. 

And  when  ye  enter  in 

Triumphant  through  the  gates  with  jubilant  song, 

The  loved  and  lost  shall  be 
First  in  that  wondrous  bright,  angelic  throng. 

To  meet  and  welcome  ye. 


■   .  •.^i-x^MU.\/A2lil 


COMFORT. 


THOUGH  many  flowers  have  faded  from  my 
life, 
And  clouds  obscure  the  brightness  of  its  sky, 
Though  still  amid  the  turmoil  and  the  strife 

I  must  toil  onward,  as  the  days  go  by; 
O,  loving  Father !  I  can  lift  to  Thee 

Grateful  thanksgiving,  and  the  voice  of  praise, 
A  harvest  fair  of  blessings,  unto  me 

Thy  love  hath  given,  lo,  these  many  days. 


'    i 


;■  1 


Oft  have  I  questioned  with  the  poet  old, — 

*'  Doth  God  exact  day  labor  light  denied?" 
Must  they  whose  lives  are  sad,  and  dark,  and  cold, 

Work  bravely  on,  peaceful  and  satisfied? 
Can  I  make  others  glad,  when  no  bird  sir.^. 

Within  the  bloomless  garden  of  my  heart  ? 
And  self-forgetting  lead  to  better  things 

Those  who  in  deeper  shadows  dwell  apart  ? 


36 


COMFORT. 


T 


This  have  I  learned,  we  can  do  much  to  make 

Our  Hves  a  blessing,  and  our  words  a  power, 
If  what  we  find  to  do  for  Christ's  dear  sake 

We  do  with  faithfulness,  from  hour  to  hour. 
The  wondrous  story  loved  by  old  and  young 

Was  penned  by  Bunyan  in  a  prison  cell, 
In  banishment  the  great-souled  Dante  sung 

His  grand,  prophetic  strain  of  Heaven  and  Hell 

And  still  their  name  is  legion  who  have  wrought 
Steadfast  and  calm,  bereft  of  earthly  cheer; 

Songs  in  the  night  by  angels  have  been  taught, 
Which  wakeful,  praying  souls  alone  could  hear. 

Thus   thinking  on  these  things  my  heart    grows 
string, 

And  I  walk  nearer  to  my  heavenly  guide 

And  bless  Him  for  the  joys  I  have, — ere  long 

**  Beyond  the  veil,"  I  shall  be  satisfied. 


G  O  O  D  ■  B  Y. 


f~^  OOD-BY  !  I  cannot  speak  it,  love,  to  thee, 
^^-^.    That  saddest  of  all  words  ;  my  quick  tears 

flow 
At  thought  of  parting  ;   life  would  sunless  be 
Without  thee ;  nay,  I  cannot  bid  thee  go. 

I  know  that  by  thy  side  Hope  smiling  stands, 
Painting  a  future  fair  and  bright  to  thee — 

Fame,  fortune,  waiting  in  the  golden  lands 
That  lie  afar,  beyond  the  glittering  sea. 

Could'st  thou  be  free  from  ill  through  all  the  years 
We  must  be  severed,  ere  fruition  come 

To  thy  sweet  dreams,  I'd  smile  e'en  through  my 
tears, 
And  bid  thee  go,  win  power  and  wealth  and  fame. 

But,  ah.  I  cannot  pierce  the  mystic  veil 

Which  darkly  shrouds  the  future  from  my  sighi, 

And  I  would  weep,  and  long  for  thee  by  day 
And  dream  of  dangers  round  thee  in  the  night. 


!fi( 


H 


'  i 


■ 


38 


GOOD-B  V. 


ii 


Even  now,  I  think  how  many  proud,  young  heads 
Arc  lying  low,  beneath  the  shining  sand; 

How  many  vessels  bearing  brave,  young  hearts, 
Have  sailed,  but  never,  never  reached  the  land. 

O,  darling,  think  what  it  would  be  to  die, 
To  yield  up  hope,  and  love,  and  life  alone; 

Unwept  o'er,  in  a  n   'arlpss  grave  to  lie, 

From  friends  afar,  l       .red  for  and  unknown. 

Would  strangers  tenderly  across  thy  breast 

Fold   these   dear   hands,    and   from    thy   brow 
when  cold 

Smooth  the  dark  locks  I  have  so  oft  caressed, 
With  tender  touch,  in  the  blest  days  of  old .'' 

Will  careless  watchers  see  the  last  soul-ray 
Die  from  the  eyes  now  looking  into  mine? 

Nay,  I  read  in  them  that  thy  lips  will  say 

Farewell  Ambition,  Love,  the  victory's  thine ! 

O,  chide  me  not,  mine  may  be  needless  fears. 
Fate  might  be  kind,  and  smile,  beloved,  on  thee  ; 

But,  ah,  remember,  years,  long  weary  years. 
Must  pass  ere  thou  could'st  come  again  to  me. 


GOOD -BY. 


39 


r  i ' 


I  could  not  climb  life's  rugged  mountain  side 
Without  thy  strong  right  arm  ^o  lean  upon  ; 

I  could  not  stem  the  waves  of  sorrow's  tide 
Without  thy  voice  and  smile  to  cheer  me  on. 

O,  what  is  gold,  or  rank,  or  power  to  me  ? 

They  will  not  satisfy  an  aching  heart: 
And  wanting  love  how  cold  the  world  would  be, 

How  desolate— with  all  its  show  and  art. 

I  love  thee,  darling,  more  than  I  can  tell. 
All  else  I  could  yield  up ;  but  thee,  ah,  no, 

Not  e'en  when  dying  shall  I  say  farewell, 
Sweetheart,  sweetheart,  I  cannot  bid  thee  go ! 


'11 


I 


n- 


'!! 


I 


" 


TIRED    TO    DEATH. 

OH,   Marie,   come    quickly  and    take  off   my 
shoes; 

Now,  bring  my  \v\\\\.q  peignoir,  and  let  down  my 
hair; 
I'm  tired  to  death!     Grace,  you  must  excuse 

Me  to  Alice  and  Captain  Bellair. 
Not  a  moment  of  rest  all  this  day  have  I  had 

Since  my  coffer  was  brought  me  at  ten, 
With  the  papers.     Each  item  of  interest  I  read : 

By  the  v^ay,  I'm  disgusted  with  men  ! 
A  second  Maud  MuUer  young  Moneyworth's  wed, 

When  he  might — but  no  matter — and  then 
An  hour  was  spent  dressing, — a  letter  I  wrote 

To  Bell  Breeze — she's  a  love  of  a  girl  ! 
Drove   to  Russell's — was  fitted — then   penned  a 
sweet  note 

To  Fred  Fairleigh :  that  card  case  of  pearl 
He  sent  me — a  bet  on  the  races  last  week. 

Yes,  archery  is  quite  the  rage  : 
A  cute  polo  pony's  my  very  last  freak — 

I'll  never  fall  back  of  the  age. 


I 


TIRED    TO    DEATH. 


41 


Had  breakfast  at  one ;  then  a  short  nap  I  took ; 

Read  Daniel  Deronda  till  three  ; 
I  must  say  it's  tedious — not  my  style  of  book — 

George  Eliot 's  too  solid  for  me. 
Now,  Southworth  and  Flemming  are  just  to  my 
taste, 
And  French  novels  are  quite  an  fait. 
Kate  Norris  called  next — oh,  how  tight  she  was 
laced, 
And  I'm  sure  she  was  painted  to-day. 
While  we  talked,  Clara  Alden   rushed  in  with   a 
gush, 
I  thought  she  would  strangle  me  quite ; 
Her  brother  is  charming,  you  know,  dear,  don't 
blush— 
I  saw  that  flirtation  last  night. 


•  r 


1 


f 


\  - 


■I 


Next,  Mordant  dropped   in — he's  a  donkey;  but 
then 

He's  worth  a  cool  million  or  more ! 
Ma  thinks  him  the  nicest  and  wisest  of  men — 

To  me  he's  a  horrible  bore, 


I 


42 


TIRED    TO    DEATH. 


But  I  don't  mean  to  snub  him ;  his  T-cart  and 
drag 

Are  the  most  stunning  turn-outs  IVe  seen ; 
While  driving,  to-day,  we  met  Marion  Flagg, 

And  with  envy  she  fairly  turned  green. 
One  cannot  well  blame  her,  he  is  such  a  catch, 

And  the  poor  girl  is  growing  passe. 
How  she  has  manoeuvered  to  make  a  good  match  ! 

What !  Grace,  six  o'clock,  did  you  say  ? 
Why,  I  must  be  dressing ;  at  seven  we  dine 

At  Delmonico's.     What  shall  I  wear  ? 
The  German  at  Granger's  commences  at  nine — 

Shall  I  bang,  friz  or  scollop  my  hair  ? 
How  frightful  to  think  I  have  not  a  new  dress ; 

I'm  sure  I've  appeared  at  least  twice, 
While  at  Newport,  in  each  of  the  robes  I  possess. 

My  white  mull — do  you  think  that  is  nice  ? 
Come,    Marie,   make   haste,  you   are   always    so 
slow — 

I  wish  I  had  time  to  take  breath ; 
Well,  darling,  good-by,  if  you  really  must  go. 

Thank  goodness!  I'm  tired  to  death. 


GAGE   D'AMOUR. 


nr^HERE  came  to  me  a  little  page  one  day, 
-^    In  livery  of  red,  and  green,  and  gold, — 
He  uttered  not  a  word, 
Not  e'en  a  sigh  I  heard ; 
And  yet  his  message  sweet,  to  me  he  told, — 
A  greeting  from  my  lover  far  away. 

A  white-winged  dove,  had  borne  my  dainty  page 
O'er  hill  and  dale,  across  the  wide,  blue  sea, 
I  kissed  him  o'er  and  o'er, — 
'Twas  but  a  leaf, — no  more, — 
From  Autumn's  crown,  my  love  had  sent  to  me, — 
Topaz  with  rubies  set,  a  true  knight's  gage. 


f^ 


r  I 


;■'  1 


i 


fi  II 


i  i  '; 


CHRISTMAS. 

T  O,  Merry  Christmas  smiles  again  ! 
■^^^     Day  brightest  in  the  year, 
And  happy  greetings  fill  the  air 

Re-echoing  far  and  near. 
Let  Yule  logs  blaze,  and  every  home 

Be  decked  with  holly  gay. 
Without,  within,  all  should  be  fair 

On  this  the  children's  day. 


I 
I 


i 


How  many  feet  adown  the  stair 

Were  flying  ere  the  light. 
To  where  the  stockings  in  a  row 

Were  hung  with  hope  last  night  ? 
How  many  youthful  hearts  beat  high, 

When  full  and  brimming  o'er 
With  Santa's  gifts  their  own  they  found  ? 

Bliss ! — earth  could  give  no  more. 


/ 


CHRISTMAS.  45 

To-day,  each  grandsirc  will  grow  young 

To  share  the  joyous  glee 
Of  laughing  girls  and  merry  boys, 

That  gather  round  his  knee. 
And  grandmamma  live  o'er  again 

The  time  so  long  ago. 
When  saucy  Harry  kissed  her  first, 

Beneath  the  mistletoe. 

And  in  a  thousand  homes  to-day 

The  story  will  be  told — 
The  wondrous  story,  ever  new, 

Albeit  ages  old — 
Of  the  blest  Babe  at  Bethlehem  born 

Long  centuries  ago. 
The  "  King  of  Kings,"  from  Heaven  sent, 

To  save  the  world  from  woe. 

And  of  the  anthem,  angel-voiced, 

That  filled  the  midnight  sky — 
"  Peace  and  good-will  to  men  .on  earth  ; 

Glory  to  God  on  high." 
Of  three  wise  men  that  came  from  far ; — 

The  star  that  led  their  w^ay 
By  hill  and  plain,  until  it  shone 

O'er  where  the  young  child  lay. 


• 


i   i 


46 


C  H  R  I  S  T  M  A  S. 


Alas !  how  many  ne'er  have  heard 

The  tidings  strange  and  glad; 
Who  grope  through  life  uncheered  by  hope, 

Unloved,  uncared  for,  sad. 
Let  us  remember  those  who  have 

No  joy  in  earth  or  Heaven, 
And  give  to-day  of  our  good  cheer, 

As  God  to  us  hath  given. 


ONE    LESS    TO-NIGHT. 


IT  ERE  she  stood  beneath  the  mantel 

Just  a  year  ago  to-night, 
With  her  smiling  face  uphTted, 

Cheeks  aglow,  and  blue  eyes  bright, 
Holding  up  a  little  stocking; 

While  her  sweet  voice  eagerly 
Pleaded  "  Won't  you  hang  it,  mamma, 

Where  old  Santa  Claus  can  see?" 

Lone  I  sit  by  dying  embers, 

Christmas  eve  has  come  and  gone ; 
And  the  bell  in  yonder  steeple 

Slowly  tolls  the  hour  of  one. 
One— my  heart  re-echoes  sadly, 

Two  were  here  one  year  ago; 
By  my  side  my  boy  lies  dreaming, 

She  is  sleeping  'neath  the  snow. 


;•  ■ 


li:: 


.i 


48  ONE    LESS    TO-NIGIIT. 

Here,  with  dimpled  hands  close  folded, 

Did  she  lisp  her  evening  prayer. 
But  no  white-robed  form  now  kneeleth 

By  the  tiny,  vacant  chair. 
Once  for  all  the  red  lips  murmured, 

'*  Now  I  lay  me  down  to  sleep," 
And  the  blue  eyes  closed  forever 

In  a  slumber,  dreamless,  deep. 

Morn,  and  noon,  and  night,  we  miss  her, 

Listening  often,  all  'n  vain, 
For  the  sound  of  coming  footsteps 

We  shall  never  hear  again. 
Little  feet  the  loving  Saviour 

Early  through  the  Pearly  Gate 
Led  them,  knowing  in  life's  journey 

Thorns  must  wound  themi,  soon  or  late. 

Oh  !  the  loneliness  and  sorrow 

In  our  hearts  and  in  our  home. 
When  we  know  on  no  "  to-morrow  " 

Will  our  absent  darling  come  ! 
Wh}^  this  cross?  we  grieving  question, 

God,  who  took  our  idol,  knew 
If  our  ''treasure"  were  in  Heaven 

We  would  long  to  follow  too. 


1 


ONE    LESS    TO-NIGHT. 

And  we  know  to-night  she  is  singing 

In  the  palace  of  the  King- 
Once  the  Bles-d  Babe  of  Bethlehem— 

And  our  fond  hearts  ever  chng 
To  our  loved  one-  yet,  this  morning 

Through  our  blinding  tears  we  smiled 
Saying,  whiie  we  wreathed  her  picture, 

**  It  is  well  "  with  our  sweet  child. 


49 


1 
1  ^ 

i 


l?r 


ANOTHER    YEAR. 


\i 


T  N  my  Book  of  Life,  leaf  after  leaf 

The  Master's  hand  turned  o'er 
E'en  to  the  last,  while  I  in  grief 

Stood  trembling,  weeping  s-^re, 
Thinking  how  marred,  and  dark  with  spots 

Was  every  page  my  tears 
Had  washed  in  vain,  to  cleanse  the  spots 

From  the  record  of  the  years. 


In  dread  I  waited  the  just  rebuke, 

And  bowed  in  shame  my  head ; 
But,  gently  my  hand  in  His  own  He  took,- 

"  Fear  not,  my  child,"  He  said  ; 
"  I  will  not  chide — see,  free  from  stain, 

Another  page,  pure,  fair. 
Before  thee  lies,  try  yet  again. 

Write  good  deeds,  true  words  there." 


ANOTHER    YEAR. 


51 


Upward  I  looked,  the  touch,  the  tone 

So  te  der.  moved  my  heart 
To  thank  and  bless  Him,  but  alone 

I  stood,  with  lips  apart 
Thrilling  with  words  unsaid, — my  eyes 

Saw  not  the  face  Divine ; 
But  the  golden  stars  in  the  purple  skies, 

And  I  heard  the  church  bells  chime. 

Solemn  and  slow  the  midnight  hour 

They  pealed,  then  loud  and  clear 
Rang  merrily  out,  from  every  tower 

To  greet  the  glad  New  Year. 
And  I  knew  but  a  dream  was  my  vision  bright. 

Yet  its  meaning  came  to  me 
Like  the  welcome  gleam  of  a  beacon  light 

To  the  mariner  far  at  sea. 

When  the  clock  struck  ten,  two  hours  before. 

From  a  merry  group  I  sped 
Alone,  to  my  chamber,  and  closed  the  door, 

Then  each  penned  page  I  read 
Of  my  diary  small,  to  the  very  last, — 

And  all  were  stained  and  wet 
With  bitter  tears,  for  the  vanished  past 

I  grieved,  with  vain  regret. 


i  ji    .ii 


I 


52  ANOTHER    YEAR. 

*'  Twelve  months/'  I  wailed, "  have  flown  away 

All,  me!  how  swift  they  \vent, 
And  I  cannot  recall  a  single  day 

Of  the  many  lost,  misspent." 
Then  low  I  knelt  by  the  window-seat 

To  pray, — for  God  more  nigh 
Did  seem  (so  ran  my  fancy  sweet), — 

Could  I  but  see  the  sky. 

There  like  a  child  myself  to  sleep 
I  sobbed,  and  the  vision  bright 

Shone  softly  through  my  slumber  deep, 
And  my  sorrow  put  to  flight, 

For  it  seemed  as  if  on  my  list'ning  ear 
Those  pleading  words,  for  me 

anoth( 


' 


y 


y<- 


Spare  thou,  oh,  spare  this  tree  !  " 

To  all,  God  gives  the  Book  of  Life 

A  pure,  white  page  turned  o'er ; — 
O,  let  us  wage  a  ceaseless  strife, 

And  fight  as  ne'er  before 
For  the  glorious  prize,  the  victor's  crown, 

Glad  when  the  ijoal  is  won 
At  the  Master's  feet  to  cast  it  down, 

And  hear  his  sweet,  ''  Well  done." 


' 


SNOW. 

pROM  frost-kissed,  fern-traced  vvindow 

I  watcli  the  fleecy  snow, 
So  softly  faltering  dowinvard 
To  clothe  the  earth  below; 
l^^akelet  on  flakelet  fallin«.- 

Pure  as  soul  of  a  child, 
Fairer  than  lily  chalice, 
Stainless  and  undefiled. 

Crowninnr  each  cot  and  mansion, 

Shrouding  the  long,  dark  street,— 
White  as  the  glis:  ^u-ng  foam-bells, 

Noiseless  as  fairy  feet. 
Draping  the  leafless  branches, 

Gemming  with  pearls  each  spray, 
Bringing  a  dream  of  blossoms, 
And  sunny,  fragrant  May. 


i   11 


1 1 


V  'I 


W  H 


I 


54  SNOW. 

Each  tiny  star's  a  jewel 

Graven  by  God's  own  hand, 
Bearing  a  mystic  signet, 

Seal  of  a  King's  command. 
Lighting  alike  on  lowly 

And  men  of  high  degree — 
Ten  thousand  thousand  preachers 

Of  purity  are  ye. 

Snow,  spotless  snow,  fit  emblem 

Of  every  heart  e'er  sin 
The  spirit's  shrine  profaneth, 

And  evil  reigns  within. 
Who  hath  a  stainless  tablet? 

Yet,  if  to  God  we  go, 
"Though  red  our  sins  like  scarlet, 

They  shall  be  white  as  snow." 


EDITH    BELL. 

J  AM  dreaming,  Edith  Bell, 

Of  youth's  happy  hours  and  thee  ; 
Ocean  waves  between  us  swell. 
Yet  thou  seemest  near  to  me. 
"Mist-hke  fade  the  long,  lone  years, 
Fled  since  we  a  last  farewell. 
Mutely  looked,  through  blinding  tears- 
Parted  hopeless,  Edith  Bell. 

Round  my  heart,  dear  Edith  Bell, 

Sad,  sweet  memories  cluster  fast ; 
Chaining  me  in  fancy's  spell, 

Bringing  back  the  sunny  past 
Ere  we  trod  earth's  thorny  ways, 
Ere  life's  shadows  on  us  fell- 
Childhood's  careless,  cloudless  days, 
Fair  and  fleeting,  Edith  Bell. 


iti 


1 1. 


\i 


56 


EDITH     BELL 


Of  the  Summers,  Edith  Bell, 

When  we  wandered  by  the  sea. 
Building  castles,  shell  on  shell. 

Launched  our  tiny  bark  with  glee, 
Roamed  by  hazel-skirted  streams, 

Gathered  berries  in  the  dell ; 
One  long  feast  of  golden  dreams 

Seemed  our  life,  then,  Edith  Bell. 

Winter  days,  sweet  Edith  Bell, 

Ne'er  to  us  seemed  dark  or  drear ; 
And  we  lov^cd,  when  twilight  fell. 

Grandma's  wondrous  tales  to  hear 
Of  grim  ghosts,  or  fairies  bright. 

Brownie's  help,  or  witches'  spell, 
Wailing  banshee,  evil  sprite. 

Never  doubting,  Edith  Bell. 

Time  sped  onward,  Edith  Bell, 

Brought  me  sorrow,  toil  and  care  ; 
But  no  shadow  seemed  to  dwell 

On  your  life,  'twas  glad  and  fair 
As  the  future  we  had  planned 

Mid  the  gowans,  in  the  dell, 
Where  we  sat,  hand  clasped  in  hand- 

'Twas  our  Eden,  Edith  Bell. 


ii   I 


EDITH    BELL. 


3/ 


Dost  remember,  Edith  Bell, 

When  the  last  time  there  we  met? 
Could  we  e'er  such  woe  fcM'etell  ? 

Can  we  e'er  such  grief  forget  ? 
Still  your  words  ring  out  to  me, 

Softer,  then,  were  thy  death-knell, 
*'  In  the  morn  a  bride  you'd  be — 

Lady  Lisle,"  viy  Edith  Bell ! 

Love  was  conquered,  Edith  Bell, 

By  ambition,  and  the  fear 
Of  a  father's  curse.     Too  well 

Had  I  loved,  and  still  more  dear 
Than  my  life  art  thou  to  me  : 

Weary  years,  nor  death,  can  quell 
Love's  fire  kindled  but  by  thee, 

\\\  my  heart,  dear  Edith  Bell. 

Snow-white  now,  sweet  Edith  Bell, 

Say  they,  is  thy  raven  hair; 
Lines  of  care  and  sorrow  dwell 

On  the  brow,  kang-syne  so  fair  ; 
But  no  change  my  heart  can  see, 

So  I  heed  not  what  they  tell ; 
Thou  art  ever  young  to  me, 

Ever  bonnie,  Edith  Bell. 


i 


»-i; 


ir; 


hi  ■ 


TO    A    PORTRAIT. 


/^^   PERFECT  ideal  face,  which  long  in  vain 
^^   Throughout  the  world  I  sought,  until  with 

pain — 
The  bitter  pain  of  finding  idols  clay, 
Of  gathering  fair,  false,  dead  sea  fruit  alway- 
Meart-weary  I  the  useless  quest  gave  o'er, 
E'en  as  an  exile  on  a  foreign  shore 
Scans  with  an  eager  gaze  each  passing  face. 
Remembering  one  with  lines  of  tender  grace ; 
Yet  as  long  years  roll  by  and  all  hope  dies, 
With  lagging  steps  he  walks,  and  downcast  eyes. 
And  thus,  unheeding,  I  moved  on  life's  way 
With  listless  air, — nor  features  grave  nor  gay 
Enchained    my    gaze, — until    (like    heaven    earth 
seemed 

morn)  the  face  of  which  I'd  dreamed 


gold( 


By  day,   by  night,   I   found, — and    claimed    thee 


mme, 


My  true  soul  mate,  as  I,  beloved,  am  thine. 


"AFTER    MANY   DAYS." 


■\/r  USING  I  sat  one  dismal,  cheerless  day, 

Sufferincr    and    sorrowful,    with    hopeless 
eyes 
Fixed  on  the  ^n'ound,  as  if  below  there  lay 
Some  dark  abyss,  from  which  all  troubles  rise. 

Few  hearts  are  unimpressed  by  Nature's  mood  ; 

When  she  doth  frown  and  weep,  sad  memories 
wake, 
And  even  youth's  day-dreams  are  sombre-hued, 

Life  seems  a  mystery  deep,  or  sad  mistake. 

Strange,  when  the  i^loom  ci  sorrow's  night  comes 
on, 

Straight  we  forget  the  dewy,  radiant  morns- 
Strange,  when  the  beauty  of  a  rose  is  gone, 
Most  often  comes  remembrance  of  its  thorns. 


f  ir 


6o 


AITER    MANY    DAYS. 


I 


As  d.irkcr  ^rcw  the  day,  with  darker  lines 

I   sketched  each  picture  from  life   scenes  lonp^ 
past ; 
Dark  cypress  trees  and  ever-sifjhinf:r  pines 

I'^ormed  every  background,  and  weird  shadows 
cast. 

Shadows  that  hid  the  sunny  slopes  from  sight, 
And  fair  mis  -Mantled  hills  that  lay  beyond. 

The  emerald  meadows  starred  with  v'.aisies  white, 
The  fleets  of  lilies  anchored  in  the  pond. 

I  passed  all  by,  and  came  to  Memory's  grave — 
Alas,  though  I  have  made  it  wide  and  deep. 

Though  flowers  bloom  o'er  her,  and  long  grasses 
wave, 
She  stirreth  often,  whispering  in  her  sleep. 

Like  ghosts  old  griefs  and  wrongs  from  out  the 
Past 
Through  my  soul's  chambers  flitted  one  by  one, 
And  o'er  my  life  a  heavy  pall  seemed  cast, 


Nor  star  of  hope  shone  out,  nor  gleam 


m 


I 


1 1 


a 


aftp:r   many  days. 


6i 


How  like  to  children  are  we — when  afraid, 
In  doubt  or  anguish,  to  the  Father's  face 

We  wistful  l(3ok,  as  mutely  asking  aid  ; 

Thus  I  looked  up  to  pray  for  help  and  grace. 

And  lo,  it  seemed  as  if  an  unseen  hand 
Had  traced  again  a  message  on  the  wall 

In  speech  I  could  not  fail  to  understand 
No  prophecy  of  some  great  city's  fall. 

But  a  sweet  promise  kindling  hope  anew, 

"  God  is  our  refuge  and  our  strength," — twice  o'er 

I  read  the^precious  words,  and  felt  them  true, 
And  sweeter  seemed  they  than  e'er  before. 

For  little  hands  this  motto  worked  for  me 

With  loving  care,  e'er  they  grew  still  and  cold  ; 

And  oft  a  childish  voice  read  solemnly 

The  sweet  assurance  from  the  Book  so  old. 

And  through  my  tears,  with  grateful  heart,  I  said, 
**  O   Lord,   how  wondrous  are   Thy  works  and 
ways ; ' ' 

Upon  the  waters  once  I  cast  my  bread, 
And  lo,  I  find  it  "  after  many  days." 


ANSWERED. 


F 


;ORGOTTEN  ?— darling,  nay,  I  love  thee  still 
With  all  the  fervor  of  tiie  olden  days ; 
As  then,  imperial  o'er  my  heart  and  will 

Thou  reignest,  crowned  with  never-fading  bays. 


Why  ask  if  in  the  windows  of  my  soul 
A  rival's  eyes  now  read  the  secret  sweet 

Thine  own  have  conned,  as  from  an  open  scroll, 
So  oft,  in  happy  hours,  alas,  too  fleet  ? 

O  my  beloved !  what  need  have  I  to  tell 

That  absence  makes  thee  only  still  more  dear? 

Life  is  not  life  without  thee,  ah, — too  well 
Thou  knowest  how  I  lonp;  to  have  thee  near. 


Miss  thee  ? — would  Earth  not  miss  the  King  of 
Day, 

Did  fair  Aurora  cease  at  morn  to  fold 
The  rose-lined  curtains  of  his  tent  awav. 

And  lead  him  forth,  in  robes  of  gleaming  gold? 


ANSWERED. 


63 


O  !  dark  as  death  seem  all  the  leaden  hours 
Which  must  be  numbered  ere  thy  face  I  see; 

As  summer  rain  to  drooping,  dying  flowers, 
So  will  thy  coming  be,  dear  one,  to  me. 

My  king  of  men!    I  love,  aye,  worship  thee, 
And  oft  I  pray.  Lord,  be  my  sin  forgiven, 

If  sin  it  be,  to  love  so  tenderly 

Him    in   whose  presence  Earth  seems   like  to 
Heaven. 


1       ' 


I 


m 


M  f 


"YET   A    LITTLE    WHILE." 

13  EYOND  the  clouds  smiles  the  clear  blue  sky, 
-^^     And   the    sun   will    shine   when   the   storm 
blonds  by. 

In  the  frost-bound  earth  through  the  winter  lay 
The  flowers  that  in  beauty  bloom  to-day, 

And  soon  from  the  buds  on  the  bare  brown  trees. 
Will  banners  of  green  be  unfurled  to  the  breeze. 

Cloud,  flower,  and  Kaf,  ye  are  teachers  three 
Of  the  many  my  Father  hath  given  to  me. 

The  lesson  ye  teach  I  can  understand ; 
To  me  'tis  as  rain  to  the  thirsty  land. 

I  know  that  the  sunlight  will  gild  my  sky, 
In  the  sweet,  mysterious  "  by-and-by  ;  " 

And  from  chilly  realms  of  dark  despair, 
Will  spring  Hope's  blossoms  fresh  and  fair. 


l!l!RiiiHK.1 


"VET    A    LITTLE    WHILE.' 


6S 


Then  my  heart  will  thrill  like  a  wind-kissed  leaf 
Though  it  fainteth  now  'neath  a  weight  of  grief 

Oh,  Thou  who  dost  clothe  the  lilies  aye, 
111  light  or  in  shade  may  I  feel  Thee  ni^rh  • 

May  my  faith  burn  bright,  and  my  love  be  strong. 
Though  the  tempest  rage,  and  the  night  be  long. 

Help  me  to  work  while  'tis  yet  to-day- 
Ere  the  twilight  falleth  cold  and  gray; 

Help  me  with  careful  hand  to  sow 

Good  seed  from  -.vhose  germs  no  tares  may  grow. 

May  the  Lord  of  the  harvest  upon  me  smile 
When  He  cometh  to  reap  in  "  a  little  while." 


d 


eastf:r  song. 


BLITHE    heralds  of    the    Spring    break    into 
singing, 
Warble  your  sweetest,  merriest  notes  to-da\' ; 
Teal  out,  glad  bells,  the  joyful  tidings  ringing, 
Christ  hath  arisen,  the  stone  is  rolled  away ! 


H 


Haste,  laughing  brookle-t,  tell  it  to  the  river, 
O  hasten,  river,  sing  it  to  the  sea; 

Chant  the.  grand  anthem  to  the  shore  forever. 
Wild  waves  of  (jcean — shout  it  ceaselessly. 


?■ 


i 


I 


if     i 


i|i 


Smile,  mother  Earth,  thy  richest  treasures  proffer, 
Thy  lovely,  first-born  darlings,  piu'e  and  fair. 

And  bid  them  from  a  m}riad  censers  offer 
The  sweetest  incense,  like  a  voiceless  prayer. 

Rejoice,  rejoice,  all  things  in  Earth  and  Heaven, 
Bless  the  Redeemer  with  united  breath  ; 

Glory  and  praise  be  to  the  victor  given, 
Jesus  hath  triumj^hed  over  sin  and  death  ! 


EASTER    SONG. 


67 


Rejoice  all  nations!  Christ  our  Saviour  liveth, 
To  help  the  weak,  to  rai.e  up  those  who  fall  • 

Joy  passing  knowledge,  lasting  peace  He  givetl'i, 
Love,  rest,  eternal  life,  offers  He  to  all. 

Meet  are  our  offerings,  meet  our  adoration, 

Dear  Mediator,  all  we  owe  to  Thee  ; 
"  O,  wondrous   love,  which   purchased  our  salva- 

This  be  our  song,  throughout  eternity.? 


i      I! 


MY    LOVE. 

A  HALO  bright,  of  golden  hair, 
Doth  crown  her  royally ; 
Her  low,  broad  brow  is  white  as  foam 

Upon  a  stormy  sea. 
Like  open  violets  gemmed  with  dew 

Her  laughing,  soul-lit  eyes, 
Serene  and  clear  and  deeply  blue 

As  cloudless  summer  skies; 
And  bright  they  beam  as  fair  twin  stars 

Through  rifted  cloud,  when  night 
Has  donned  her  trailing,  sable  robes, 

And  veiled  the  moon  from  sight. 


¥  ■■ 


!     n 


Her  lips  are  like  to  coral  wet 

By  kiss  of  rippling  waves, 
Less  faultless  than  her  teeth  the  pearls 

That  gleam  in  ocean  caves. 
Her  cheeks  have  caught  the  faint,  sweet  flush 

Of  rosebuds  ere  they  blow, 


MY    L  O  V  E. 

And  fair  her  dainty,  dimpled  chin 

As  freshly-fallen  snow. 
Soft  is  her  winning  voice,  and  clear 

As  sound  of  woodland  streams, 
A  voice  that  ever  haunts  me,  sweet 
As  music  heard  in  dreams. 

Like  lilies  are  her  little  hands, 

In  fancy  even  now 
I  feel,  O  bliss!   their  soft,  pink  palms 

Like  rose  leaves  touch  my  brow ; 
And  falleth  on  mine  ear  a  sound, 

Of  all  sweet  sounds  most  sweet, 
The  cojTiincr  footsteps,  light  and  low, 

Of  dancing,  fairy  feet. 
My  love,  my  life  !    how  thrills  my  heart 

With  joy  unfelt,  unknown, 
Ere  Heaven  had  sent  thee  to  my  side, 
My  peerless  one,  my  own  ! 


69 


*  ■ 


I 


;h 


11 


■1 


i  1. 


AT    PARTING. 

"D  EFORE  we  said  farewell,  upon  my  hand 
-^-^      He  pressed  two  kisses,  tenderly  and  slow ; 
The  first  fell  just  below  this  golden  band 

(His  pledge  of  troth)  here,  where  the  blue  veins 
show. 

The  second  kiss  he  folded  in  my  palm, 

Saying  the  while,  "  My  darling,  ne'er  forget 

That  thus  I  seal  thee  mine,  in  storm  and  calm. 
Come  weal,  come  woe,  until  life's  sun  shall  set. 

"  O,  love  of  mine  !   I  consecrate  these  hands 
To  noble  deeds,  to  Ch''ist-like  ministry. 

Ready  for  harvesting  the  world's  field  stands, 
Go  forth  to  reap,  the  Master  needeth  thee." 


A  third  kiss  on  my  brow  he  fondly  pressed, 

And  said,  "  Dear,  keep  thy  thoughts  as  pure  as 
snow," 

Then  in  a  rain  on  lips  and  eyes  the  rest 
Fell  passionately,  while  he  whispered  low, 


.  1 


AT     I'ARTINi;. 


71 


"  My  own,  my  own,  from  these  sweet  lips  and  eyes 
Let  Truth's  white  soul  speak  out ;    thou  canst 
not  tell 

How  many  hopeless  souls  up  to  the  skies 

Thy  faithfulness   may    lift    from    Doubt's    dark 
hell." 

He  went  afar,  a  hero's  part  to  take 

In  life's  fierce  battle  ;  trusting^dy  I  pray, 

And  strive  to  reach  j^rrcat  hei^i^hts  for  his  dear  sake, 
Knowing  he'll  come  again  to  me,  some  day. 

When  life  seems  hard,  close  to  my  aching  brow 

And  tearful  eyes  I  clasp  caressingly 
The  hand  he  kissed.     The  memory  of  his  vow, 

That  baptism  of  love,  come  back  to  me, 

And  I  am  glad,  content  and  strong  once  more, 
Grief  spreads  her  sable  wings  and  disappears. 

I  pray  '^  God  bless  my  darling,"  o'er  and  o'er, 
And  chide  my  weak  heart  for  its  foolish  fears. 


\n 


!'  !■■ 


,..V..^ 


1 


MY    LADY. 


¥  i 


SHE  is  not  sedate  and  queenly, 
Crowned  with  hair  of  ebon  hue, 
Not  a  fay  with  golden  tresses 

Shading  eyes  of  heavenly  blue  ; 
She  is  not  an  ideal  airy, — 

Dove  or  floweret,  pearl  or  star, 
Not  an  angel  is  my  lady, 
But  a  creature  dearer  far. 


Just  a  little,  laughing  maiden, 

Dusky-haired  and  hazel-eyed. 
With  a  heart  so  filled  with  goodness, 

Room  remains  for  naught  beside. 
Fresh  and  pure  as  meadow  daisy, 

Ever  gentle,  loving,  gay ; 
Like  a  sunbeam  from  my  spirit. 

Chasing  all  the  gloom  away. 


MV    LADY. 

As  I  gladly  hasten  homeward, 

When  the  busy  day  is  o'er, 
Comes  to  me  the  -olden  vision 

Of  a  bright  face  at  the  door  ; 
Round,  white  arms  my  neck  eacirch-n<,r, 

Rosy  h*ps  pressed  close  to  mine, 
Breathing  welcome;  ah,  my  lady,' 

Face  and  arms  and  hps  are  thine  ! 

Bright  eyes  dim  and  Time's  rude  finger 

Changes  e'en  the  fairest  face, 
Care  and  sorrows  of  a  life-time' 

Bow  forms  once  erect  with  grace ; 
But  heart-beauty  fadeth  never, 

*Tis  a  loveliness  divine, 
And  thou  hast  this  priceless  treasure 

DarHng  little  lady  mine ! 


73 


!  t 


A    PKNITENTIAL    PRAYICR. 

/'~\   GOD,  1  lift  my  tearful  eyes  to  Thee, 
^-^  Hear  Thou  my  prayer  ; 

For  comfort,  Lord,  I  cry,  imploringly, — 
My  sorrow  share. 

Here  at  Thy  feet,  my  wounded  heart  I  lay, — 

Thou  will  not  spurn. 
Though  I  have  wandered  from  Thee  far  away. 

Nor  would  return. 

Though  oft  with  patient  love  Thou  did'st  beseech, 

In  wrath  command, 
I  heeded  not  the  lessons  Tho"  would'st  teach, — 

I  built  on  sand. 

I  sought  with  earthly  love  my  soul  to  feed, 

But  all  in  vain, — 
It  left  me  famishing  in  hour  of  need. 

And  brought  but  pain. 


A   I'Kx  I  ji:  \  r  [  A  [.   1' K  . 


\  y  1-;  K. 


75 


Rendincr  the  veil  that  hid  my  inner  life 

From  human  eyes, 
Revealed  past  failures,  errors,  sorrow,  strife.- 

In  cold  surprise. 

Love,  seeking  f„r  perfection,  scornful  turned 

From  me  aside ; 
The    comfort,    lielp,    and    strength    for    which     I 

yearned, 

Were  each  denied. 

Now,  ever  faithful  Friend,  to  Thee  I  come; 

Dear  Lord,  forgive ! 
A  weary  wanderer  returning  home, 

I  pra);  receive. 

An  empty,  undivided  heart  at  last 

I  offer  Thee, 
O,  seal  it  Thine,--my  broken  idols  cast 

Afar  from  me. 

With  wihing  feet  Til  follow  evermore 

Where  Thou  dost  lead  ; 
Thy  '  .ve  hath  proven  an  exhaustfess  store 

In  hour  of  need. 


II, 


7<^ 


A     P  E  N  [  T  E  N  r  I  A  L    1'  K  A  V  E  R. 


Within  the  shelter  of  Thine  arms  alone 

Is  peace  and  rest ; 
Dear,  tender  Saviour,  gladly  do  I  own 

Thy  love  is  best. 


im 


K 


I 


I; 

:    t 

4  - 

--{ 

t 

i 

fc: 

i 

'r 

i 

i 

i  i 
t 

.«L^ 


ACROSTIC. 


W  EAVLN'S  richest  blessings    I   would   wish 
'-  for  thee, 

Ever  unclouded  may  thy  life-sky  be  ; 

Love's  firmest  tendrils  round  thy  heart  entwine  ; 

Earnest  and  faithful  friends  be  ahvay  thine ; 

Nightly  may  angels  guard  thy  slumbers  sweet, 

Leading  by  day  aright  thy  careless  feet, 

And  guiding  thee  where  living  waters  flow 

Close  to  the  Shado^viiig  Rock,-in  grief  or  woe 

Vield  thou  thy  will  to  Christ,  who  loves  thee  so. 

Free  may'st  thou  ever  be  from  i)ain  and  care, 

And  all  thy  years  on  earth  be  glad  and  fair, 

Radiant  as  thy  life's  morning  be  the  night ;' 

Gla('  thine  awakening  m  the  Land  of  Light,— 

Ovei  the  river  deep,  where  all  is  bright. 


HI 


THROUGH    DEATH    TO    LH^E. 


m 

hi 


I*!) 

U  it 


||! 


if   «-' 

ill 


ii 


/""^  ONE  arc  the  fair  summer  flowers  ; 
^-^      Lifeless  and  shrouded  they  lie 
'Neath  tlie  brl</ht-tintcd  leaves  that  in  showers 
Fall  earthward  to  wither  and  die. 

Gone  are  the  sweet  hopes  we  cherished, — 

J^'aded  and  crushed  by  despair, 
Like  the  frail,  brilliant  blossoms  they  perished, 

And  left  us  but  sorrow  and  care. 

Vanished,  our  best-loved,  our  fairest 

Gone  to  the  "  echoic  -s  shore  ;" 
Death  culls  first  the  buds  that  are  rarest, — 

Our  sore  licarts  they  <^ladden  no  more. 

Sad  thouL,dits  that  will  come  all  unbidden 

As  daily  the  bouj^hs  barer  grow, 
While  tlie  blue  and  the  silver  are  hidden 

Above,  and  Earth  tear-bathed  below 


TIIROU(;i[     DEATH    TO    LIFE. 

Lies  shivering,  for  Winter  delayeth 
Tlie  sheeny,  white  garment  to  bring 

In  which  her  cold  form  lie  arrayeth, 
Till  crocus  stars  herald  the  Spring. 

O,  faithless  !— Again  in  the  shadow 
Of  dim  woods,  the  violets  their  eyes 

Will  open,  and  daisies  the  meadows 
Gem  o'er,  as  the  stars  gem  the  skies. 

Fair  Jnne  will  return  crowned  with  roses, 
When  Nature,  rich-robed  like  a  queen, 

Day  by  day  rarer  jewels  discloses 
Bedecking  her  raiment  of  <rreen. 


79 


I 


To  liearts  where  no  flower  of  hope  bloweth, 
Storm-tossed  on  the  rough  waves  of  grief, 

Wliose  bitterness  only  God  knoweth, 
A  lesson  of  hope  and  belief 

These  changes  must  teach.     He  who  maketh 
The  sunshine  to  follow  the  rain. 

Who  speaks  and  the  frozen  earth  waketh, 
To  smile  in  fresh  beauty  again,— 


8o  THROUGH    DEATH    TO    LIFE. 

Thus  ever  His  promise  repeateth, 
That  after  Death's  winter  is  o'er, 

A  home  for  his  loved  ones  awaiteth, 
Where  flowerets  will  bloom  evermore. 


11 

III 

1 

ii 

i    A 

JOHNNY'S    LETTER, 

r^  EAR  Ned,  your  letter's  come  at  last, 

^^     And  Nelly's  cockatoo, 

Old  Captain  Cable  brou^dit  them  both. 

'Twas  pretty  crood  of  you 
To  write  so  much,  when  it's  so  hot; 

How  jolly  brown  you'll  be 

Just  like  a  heathen  Hottentot— 
When  you  come  back  from  sea ! 


I  don't  believe  I'd  care  to  hunt 

In  jungles,— at  a  show 
I'm  just  as  near  a  lion's  jaws 

As  I  would  care  to  go. 
Suppose  the  cannibals  you  saw 

Had  nothing  left  to  eat  ? 
Phew!  they'd  have  built  a  fire,  I'm  sure, 

And  roasted  you  for  meat. 


83 


JO  TINNY    S    LETTER. 


):i 


We've  all  been  down  at  Grandma  Lee's, 

And  didn't  we  have  fun  ! 
We  jumped  the  fences,  climbed  the  trees, 

And  made  the  squirrels  run  ; 
Hif^h  on  a  load  of  hay  we  rode 

With  Jalce  and  Uncle  Nate  : 
We  hunted  nests,  and  (i^d  the  chicks, 

And  swung  upon  the  gate. 

We  fished  and  waded  in  the  creek. 

Shook  apples  off  the  trees — 
(I  ate  so  many  I  was  sick) — 

We  chased  the  bumble  bees ; 
They  stung  poor  Bobby  on  the  nose, 

And  Katy  in  the  eye ; 
It  made  them  look  so  very  queer. 

And  oh,  how  they  did  cry ! 

Dick  made  believe  he  had  a  horse, 

'Twas  nothing  but  a  rail; 
I  tied  the  duster  on  behind, 

It  looked  just  like  a  tail ; 
But  he^got  tired,  let  go  the  rein,       ^ 


And  tumbled  on  a  lo 


fc)' 


Then  when  I  ran  to  call  nurse  Jane 
I  fell  across  the  do<r. 


johnny's  lettp:r. 

I  haven't  got  much  more  to  say, 

And  I  must  go  to  school. 
I  missed  my  lesson  yesterday, 

I  said  ''a  little  bull," 
When  teacher  asked  what  bullet  meant- 

VVhy  shouldn't  it  be  so 
When  streamlet  means  a  little  stream  ? 
That's  what  I'd  like  to  know. 

There  goes  the  bell  !  I  must  be  off— 

I  'most  forgot  to  say 
That  Charley  has  the  whooping-cough, 

And  Tom  fell  off  a  dray, 
But  'cepting  them  we're  all  quite  well ; 

Good-by,— remember,  now, 
If  you  don't  bring  a  monkey  home 

There'll  be  the  biggest  row. 


83 


* 


i 


THROUGH    THE    STORM. 


m 


i  i 


K  1 


LOUD  wails  the  wind  to-night, 
'     And  shudd'ring  gusts  of  rain 
Swept  by  the  tempest's  might 

Dash  'gainst  the  window-pane. 
High  on  the  wreck-strewn  shore 

Breaketh  an  aagry  sea, 
And  mingled  with  its  roar 
Seem  moans  of  agony. 

Hark  to  the  mournful  dirge 

It  chanteth  ceaselessly ; 
To  you  the  sobbing  surge, — 

A  requiem  to  me, 
O'er  him  who  lieth  deep 

Beneath  the  foam-crowned  waves, 
Where  tangled  sea-weeds  creep 

O'er  lonely,  nameless  graves. 


P  ij 


TH  RO(J  (;f[     TK  K    STORM. 

On  just  as  wild  a  nii^ht 

Uy  sailor  brave  was  lost, 
Went  down,  the  cliffs  in  si-ht 

Upon  the  beach  was  tossed, 
With  broken  mast  and  spar. 

One  splintered  plank.     A  name 
They  read  thereon,— ,V,;;V/^  S/ar. 

His  bark  had  borne  the  same. 

Adown  the  vista  dim 

Of  vanished  days,  throui^h  tears 
I  gaze  the  while  I  trim 

My  lamp,— alight  for  years. 
Again  upon  the  shore 

I  stand,  a  happy  bride, 
With  him  whose  ship  no  more 

Will  sail  in  with  the  tide. 

And  still  it  is  aglow, 

This  hope  in  my  sad  hearto 
Oft  in  the  drear,  dark  night 

I  wake  with  joyful  start. 
His  cheery  voice  I  hear. 

His  smiling  face  I  see, 
Alas,  the  dreamlight  fades, 

And  he  comes  not  to  me. 


85 


86 


THRO  IKill    T  II  K     S'lOKM. 


Wild  winds,  mad  waves  moan  on, 

Weep  sullen,  starless  skies, 
For  irie  there  breaks  a  dawn, 

An  endless  day  shall  rise. 
Far  on  the  further  shore. 

Beyond  life's  troubled  sea, 
Where  storms  come  nevermore, 

My  love  awaiteth  me. 


M  E  M  i:  NTOS. 


T^WO  half-ur,rn   shoes,  a  tress  of  soft,  brown 

-*-  hair, 

A  broken  toy.  torn  book,  and  empt>-  chair, 

WJiat  memories  they  bring! 
I  hear  once  more  the  patter  of  his  feet, 
TJie  merry  laughter,  ringing  clear  and  s'ueet, 

And  see  him  as  of  old  about  to  spring 
To  my  embrace,— forgetting,  in  m\'  joy,  "^ 
That  in  a  fairer  home,  beyond  the  sky. 
My  nestling  now  doth  sing. 

Here  is  his  little  cot,  the  pillow  soft 
His  wee  head  rested  on  so  oft,  so  oft, 

O,  it  does  almost  seem 
I  could  again  to  mine  his  red  lips  press. 
And  feel  his  baby  fingers  dear  caress, 

And  see  his  dark  eyes  gleam  ; 
Alas,  that  little  grave  with  grass  o  ergrown, 
"Our  Darling"  carved  upon  the  marble  stone, 
Dispels  my  happy  dream. 


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88 


MEMENTOS. 


My  beautiful,  my  precious  one,  in  vain 

I  reach  out  empty  arms,  athrill  with  pain, — 

With  love  and  longing  time  can  never  quell, 
I  cannot  meekly  kiss  the  chastening  rod 
Held  o'er  me  by  a  just  and  pitying  God, 

My  weak  heart  will  rebel. 
O  Father!  with  Thy  peace  my  spirit  fill. 
Help  me  to  say,  submissive  to  Thy  will, 

"  Thou  doest  all  things  well." 


AN    OWER   TRUE    TALE. 


m 


pROFESSOR  Squallitwelli  stood  one  day, 
■*•        Precisely  as  the  clock  was  striking  four, 
At  neighbor  De  Veneer's  across  the  way, 

And  pulled  the  bell  full  seven  times  or  more. 

I  wondered  what  the  long  delay  could  mean, 

For  at  this  hour  each  day  the  parlor  blinds 
Were  opened,  and  Cecilia  could  be  seen 

And  /leard,  but  only  cultivated  minds 
And  ears  could  full  appreciate  the  strains 

Which  woke  the  echoes  many  blocks  around- 
Shrieks  as  of  one  in  purgatorial  pains 

And  oft  I  wished  the  singer  underground 
In  some  enchanted  palace  fast  asleep 

For  fifty  years  to  come,  or  'neath  the  sea 
In  pearl-paved  cavern  of  the  briny  deep. 
Such  as  Jules  Verne  describeth  knowingly. 

The  learned  Professor  turns  at  last,— when  wide 
The  door  is  thrown.     Before  him  doth  appear 

The  fair  Cecilia's  father— at  his  side 

She  stands,  her  lovely  face  bedewed  with  tears. 


90 


AN    O  W  E  R    TRUE    TALE. 


Thus  to  the  man  of  notes  in  wrath  he  spoke, 
"  Begone,  and  cross  my  threshold  never  more  !  " 

From  stunned  surprise  the  signor  grave  awoke 
And  questioned,  "  Why  thus  spurn  me  from  thy 
door?" 


i-i 


"  Why  !     Yester  eve,"  the  angry  parent  said, 

*' A  carriage  in  hot  haste  through  yonder  gate 
Was  driven,  then  came  shrieks  would  wake  the 
dead — 

The  bell  rang  furiously — I  did  not  wait 
The  maid's  slow  coming ;  rushing  down  the  stair, 

In  haste  the  door  I  opened,  and  I  saw 
Two  men,  who  held  a  raving  maniac  there, 

A  woman  in  straight  jacket.     Mute  with  awe 
I  stood  a  moment,  horrified,  amazed, 

Demanding,  when  at  last  my  voice  I  found. 
What  meant   this  outrage  ?      Then  on  me   they 
gazed 

In  turn  indignant.     One  said,  '  I'll  be  bound 
Here's   some   mistake ;    I    thought    'twas   rather 
grand — 

Isn't  this  a  lunatic  asylum  ?  *     *  No ! ' 
I  thundered.     Well,  I  hope  you  understand. 

Your  squalling  here  is  ended, — now,  sir,  go!  " 


forge{t-mp:-nots. 


A   LL  o'er ;  in  agony  upon  his  grave 
-^"^     A  last,  fond  look  they  cast,  and  leave  him 

there 
In  dreamless  rest,— their  joy  and  pride,— to  save 
All  unavailing  proved  their  love  and  care. 

Four  days  of  desolation  pass  away, 

Four  nights  of  anguish,   and  they  come   once 
more 
To  deck  his  grave  with  flowers,  to  weep  and  pray 

For  one  faint  whisper  from  the  farther  shore. 

'Tis  all  in  vain, — nor  voice,  nor  sigh  replies ; 

With  doubled  sense  of  loss  they  turn  away — 
When,  starting  suddenly,  the  sister  cries, 

In  joyful  tones,  ''  O,  mother,  mother,  stay!" 

And  parting  with  her  eager,  trembling  hands 
The  little  spears  of  green  upon  the  sod — 

Behold,  where  pale  and  mute  the  mother  stands. 
Three  blue  forget-me-nots  look  up  to  God. 


92 


FORGET-ME-NOTS. 


With  eyes  upraised  to  Heaven,  she  spoke  at  last — 
"The  Lord  hath  seen  our  tears,  and  heard  our 
prayers ; 

His  angel  hath  these  lovely  blossoms  cast, 
Low  at  our  feet,  to  bless  us  unawares. 

"  To  me  they  seem  as  fresh  from  Paradise, 
And  breathe  their  tender  message  lovingly. 

O,  flowerets  sweet,  so  like  my  darling's  eyes, 
A  precious,  priceless  boon  are  ye  to  me ! 

"  To  father,  mother,  sister,  do  ye  bear 

These  words  of  fond  remembrance  ;  and  ye  teach 

Of  Him  who  saith  '  Upon  me  cast  thy  care,' 
In  silence  far  more  eloquent  than  speech. 

"  O,  God,  to  Thee  we  lift  our  grateful  prayer, 
For  Thou  hast  given  consolation  sweet ; 

Forget  ?is  not,  dear  Lord,  our  sorrow  share,— 
Lo,  here  we  lay  our  burden  at  Thy  feet." 


BENEATH    THE    PINES. 

"DENEATH  the  shadow  of  the  pines 

-■-^     I  stood  long  years  ago, 

Full  sweet  upon  the  breeze  was  borne 

The  river's  distant  flow, 
But  sweeter  far  to  me  the  tale 

My  lover  whispered  low, 
That  moonlit  night  beneath  the  pines 
So  many  years  ago. 


Beneath  the  shadow  of  the  pines 

Yet  once  again  we  met, 
To  part— perchance,  no  more  to  meet. 

My  heart  can  ne'er  forget 
That  bitter  pain  ;  I  did  not  know 

That  I  had  loved  him  so, 
Until,  alone,  beneath  the  pines 

I  stood,  long  years  ago. 


94 


H  E  N  E  A  r  H    THE    PINE  S. 


' 


Beneath  the  shadow  of  the  pines 

At  eve  I  oft  would  stray 
And  dream  of  him,  my  soldier  brave — 

To  weep  and  fondly  pray 
For  that  cflad  hour  when  laurel-crowned 

With  victory  aglow, 
He'd  come  to  woo  me   neath  the  pines, 

So  many  years  ago ! 


Beneath  the  shadow  of  the  pines 

We  stand  again  to-night, 
With  love  unchanged — though  o'er  my  brow 

Are  threads  of  silvery  white, 
And  light  our  hearts,  as  in  the  hours 

We  wandered  to  and  fro 
Beneath  the  shadow  of  the  pines 

So  many  years  ago. 


} 


DECORATIVE    ART. 

FROM    dick's    point    OF    VIEW. 

\/ES,  I'm  sick  of  it  all; 

-■'       At  every  step  I  take, 
In  parlor,  bedroom,  hall, 

It's  "  Dick,  take  care  you'll  break 
That  lovely  plaque,  I  know;" 

They're  at  me  all  the  time, 
No  matter  where  I  go 

'Tis  just  the  same  old  rhyme. 

I  hate  the  latest  styles. 

They've  carried  off  my  rug, 
And  put  in  horrid  tiles. 

The  queerest  looking  jug 
Stands  on  the  mantel  shelf. 

Beside  a  big  blue  cup; 
(Ma  says  they're  rare  old  delf) 

I'd  like  to  smash  them  up  ! 


ft  -I 


96 


DECORATIVE    ART. 

Tlien,  over  mother's  bed 

Is  hung  a  monstrous  owl — 
The  moon's  behind  its  head. 

A  crane,  or  some  odd  fowl, 
Is  painted  on  a  screen, 

That  stands  the  other  side— 
With  dragons  red  and  green, 

And  men  all  goggle-eyed, 

Two  butterflies,  and  things 

Like  grubs, — a  yellow  rose, 
Fat  baby  boys  with  wings, 

And  hardly  any  clothes. 
The  parlor's  full  of  stuff, 

Lamps,  urns,  all  kinds  of  ware,- 
I  think  we  have  enough, — 

Pa  growls  like  any  bear, 

So  many  bills  come  in 

For  china,  brushes,  paint ; 
I  think  it  is  a  sin. 

And  would  provoke  a  saint. 
But  no  one  seems  to  care, 

They're  buying  all  the  time  ; 
It's  anything  but  fair. 

For  I  can't  get  a  dime. 


DECORATIVE    ART. 


97 


The  girls,  and  mother,  too, 

Keep  talking  night  and  day 
Of  crewels,  patterns  new 

For  doilys — ivhat  arc  they  ! 
It's  always  "Dick  be  still," 

"You've  spoiled  my  lovely  leaf"- 
ril  run  away,  I  will. 

And  be  an  Indian  chief! 


FOLLIES   OF   TO-DAY. 


i 


'X 


CADDIE,  Mintie,  Hidie,  Hodie, 
Pattic,  Pinkie,  Dulie,  Dodie, 
Flossie,  Nonic,  Tannic,  Todie, 

List,  ye  shades,  I  pray ! 
Grandames  all,  of  every  station, 
Issue  forth  in  protestation. 
And  rebuke  with  indignation, 
Follies  of  to-day  ! 


Gussie,  Hennie,  Minnie,  Mattie, 
Dollie,  Gratie,  Sadie,  Hattie, 
Tiny,  Beebie,  Birdie,  Cattie, 

And  a  dozen  more 
Full  as  senseless  and  e: "itic. 
O,  ye  belles,  who  search  the  attic. 
Take  their  names, — 'twould  be  ecstatic, 

With  the  robes  they  wore. 


FOLLIES    OF    TO-DAY. 

Grand  Matilda,  now  but  Tillie, 
Miliccnt,  instead  of  Millie, 
Sweet  Cecilia,  lost  in  Cillie; 

Sarah,  Kdith,  Kate, 
Jane,  Kliza,  Rachel,  Dora, 
Helen,  Lucy,  Ruth  or  Flora, 
Anna,  Mar<^raret  and  Nora, 

Mary,  noiv  'tis  Mate. 

Fathers,  husbands,  all  are  mourninfr, 
Fashion's  stran^^^e.  uncouth  ilaornin^^ 
For  the  "gentler  sex"   sre  scorning 

Feminine  attire. 
Collars,  neckties,  Derbys,  Sailors, 
Coats  and  vests  by  modish  tailors 
Made — and  ulsters,— canes  from  Ga>'lor's,- 

Can  the)'  more  desire'* 

Yea,  ''  sub  rosa,"  be  it  spoken, 

Else  my  peace  of  mind  were  broken, 

Cigarettes— the  signs  betoken  ; 

What  will  follow  then? 
Very  little  more  is  needin 


99 


Other  garments  superseding 
Skirts.     'Tis  thus  Dame  Fashion's  leading, — 
Strike  for  rights,  O  men  ! 


f 


I 


"MY  GRy\Cl^   IS  SUMICIENT   FOR 

THEE." 

T^  F.  patient  when  trials  assail  thee, 

-■^     And  hope  seems  to  fade  from  thy  sight ; 

When  tile  L;lory  of  morninj^  has  vanished 

And  left  but  the  darkness  of  night ; 
In  deei)est  affliction  despair  not, 

Though  bitter  the  ordeal  may  be, 
Remember  the  Savit>ur's  sweet  promise, 

"  My  grace  is  sufficient  for  thee." 


Ni 


3 


Tf  blossoms  of  joy  droop  and  wither. 

When  fairest  and  brightest  they  seemed, 
Forget  not,  *'  through  great  tribulation," 

Have  passed  all  the  white-robe  redeemed; 
When  loved  ones,  thy  nearest  and  dearest, 

To  join  them,  cross  death's  narrow  sea, 
Murmur  not,  He  is  faithful  who  promised, 

"  My  grace  is  sufficient  for  thee." 


*'MY   C.KACK    IS   SUFFK  [KN|-    I'(;K   Mn;!;." 


FOI 


R 


( 


Then  trust,  thoii^rh  the  clouds  frown  alK)vc  thcc, 

And  thorns  chistcr  thick  'nciith  thy  feet, 
While  others  have  nr)vverets  and  sunshine, 

And  (juaff  from  life's  chalice  but  sweet; 
The  reason  we  shall  know  hereafter ■ 

On  earth  we  but  darkly  can  see  ; 
Then  coura^re,  He  suffered,  who  sayeth 

"  My  ^rrace  is  sufficient  for  thee." 


Grief  purifies,  fits  us  for  Heaven— 

A  Father's  hand  holdcth  the  rod ; 
In  joy  we  forget  the  kind  giver. 

In  sorrow  we  turn  unto  God  ; 
Have  faith,  then.  He  ne'er  will  forsake  thee, 

And  merciful  ever  shall  be; 
To  tried  souls  and  tempted.  He  whispers— 

"  My  grace  is  sufficient  for  thee." 


SUNSET. 


A  BOVR  the    hills,  mist-mantled,  a   wondrous 
'^^     glory  lies, 

Bright  billows — gold  and  amethyst — flood  all  the 
western  skies. 


O,  perfect,  matchless  picture !  O,  scene  sublimely 

f^iir! 
A  glimpse  of  Heaven  seeming,  of  glory  shining 

there. 

How  slow  the  purple   paleth,  the  crimson    fades 

to  gray. 
While   sad   the   night   breeze    waileth    above    the 

dying  day. 


Its  joys  and  griefs  are  ended,  its  cares  and  trials 

past, 
Its  record  sealed,  O,  solemn  thought,  what  if  it 

were  our  last  ? 


SUNSET. 


103 


teavens   gates   each   even 


Ah,  can    it    be   that    H( 
stand  ajar, 

While  guardian  angels  wing  their  flight,  unseen, 
from  star  to  star  ? 

And  if  the  City's  portals  are  so  beautiful  to  see, 
What  must  the  hidden  splendor  of  the   -  many 
mansions  "  be  ? 

This  hour  to  me  doth  holy  seem,  my  soul  goes 
forth  in  prayer 

To  God  who  hath  to  mortals   given  a  scene  so 
grand,  so  fair  ; 

And  when  my  life's  last  sun  hath  set,  and  death's 

long  night  is  nigh, 
O,  may  I  wake  in  that  bright  land,  where  daylight 

ne'er  shall  die. 


